


One Last Time

by WaltzingLikeIts1698



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaltzingLikeIts1698/pseuds/WaltzingLikeIts1698
Summary: Possible thoughts of one Marianne and a potential explanation as to WHY SHE DIDN'T LEAP ACROSS THE THEATRE GOERS TO SEE HÉLOÏSE.
Relationships: Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	One Last Time

The last time I saw her.

And there I go again, speaking in definitives. "The last time I saw her." As if I had some clairvoyant inkling that that was our last meeting.

As if I didn't make it a point to always find myself coming back to Milan.

The first time seeing her since leaving I was disappointed. In fact disappointment is lacking in sentiment.  
I was a range of emotions. If only my students could see them changing across my face. What good practice that would've been.

I was awestruck. Overjoyed. Longing. I was jealous. 

But jealous of who? Of her husband? Had I not wished for her to find happiness? Was it then of the child clinging desperately to her?

I finally paid mind to her hands. Of course one should always notice the hands. She had the book in her hand. One of her fingers was bookmarking a page. I already knew what page it was without seeing the numeration. Then the smile on her face made more sense. One could say I've gotten better at making her smile.

Although the time I saw her in the theater, it seemed all I could do was make her cry. I wanted to see her—for her to see me. Desperate even, but the selfish part of me won out.  
What if I'm not Orpheus? What if I'm the character who can only react? An even harsher question is what if she has already fallen in love with my memory?

So I stay seated in my box looking out to her's. I see her cry. Then I see her laugh.  
The juxtaposition should be offputting, but I think it's lovely. It's her: full of life. 

"Is it a happy piece?"

"No, but it is lively."

**Author's Note:**

> Fight me in the comments for the First Person POV & "any out of character"-ness. Also I would love to have a third glorious face to face meeting.


End file.
